


Sunny Days

by adaille



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Almost Mostly Newly Human Castiel, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-06-02 13:53:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19442770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adaille/pseuds/adaille
Summary: In which Cas gets his first sunburn, and immediately regrets having skin.*  *  *Dean has plans for their first trip to the beach. Lovely, wonderful, well-laid and well-thought-out plans. The best plans.First step, rent a tacky beachfront bungalow like it’s for a proper Family Vacation™, and blame it on Sam. Next, lie on the warm sand, dollar store beach towels beneath them, cold beer beside them, hot sun overhead. Run through the waves, throw a ball or frisbee around, chase it into the ocean when someone misses a throw. Dunk Cas in salt water and watch what it does to his hair when it dries, now that Cas can't smite him for it (he hopes).Maybe get Sam one of those shitty grocery store novels and sneak a plastic fork or something on his back while he's distracted to mess up his tan. Introduce Cas to nearly expired hot dogs that'll probably have just enough sand on them to feel gritty in his teeth.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _Did someone request fluff? I thought I heard a request for fluff._
> 
> I have about half of this written; feel free to yell at me until I finish it properly.

Dean has plans for their first trip to the beach. Lovely, wonderful, well-laid and well-thought-out plans. The best plans.

First step, rent a tacky beachfront bungalow like it’s for a proper Family Vacation™, and blame it on Sam. Next, lie on the warm sand, dollar store beach towels beneath them, cold beer beside them, hot sun overhead. Run through the waves, throw a ball or frisbee around, chase it into the ocean when someone misses a throw. Dunk Cas in salt water and watch what it does to his hair when it dries, now that Cas can't smite him for it (he hopes).

Maybe get Sam one of those shitty grocery store novels and sneak a plastic fork or something on his back while he's distracted to mess up his tan. Introduce Cas to nearly expired hot dogs that'll probably have just enough sand on them to feel gritty in his teeth.

Hell, he'll even sit around and wait for hours if Cas wants to collect seashells and driftwood, to go with all the rocks and leaves and sticks and other shit that keeps appearing in his room. Maybe get some fireworks, for when it gets dark.

Now that Cas is nearly human, Dean doesn't really care what they do, to be honest, as long as they're together. He figures, whatever happens, it'll be fine. It'll be great.

And it is. At first.

* * *

It turns out, nearly-human sort-of-fallen partially-(mostly)-depowered former angels can sunburn...really, really sunburn.

Dean comes to this realization when Cas won't sit still on the couch that evening after they come inside. Cas goes to take a shower, comes back out in an old sweatshirt that Dean remembers packing in _his_ bag, and then he just keeps fidgeting.

"Cas, man, you're kinda distracting me from the movie, here." Part of the distraction being how easily Dean can imagine the squirming and the wriggling and the little noises he's making happening while Cas is trying to get comfy on Dean's lap instead of the couch, and also while Dean slides his hands under the hem of that sweatshirt to palm over his stomach, and fuck, stop picturing that. Right now.

"It's…did you change fabric softener, Dean?"

"Same shit I always use, dude."

"This shirt, it's very…itchy."

"Then scratch it."

Cas squints at him, brows pinched into a scowl. "I have scratched it. It feels like ants. And I like ants, but not when they're—"

Dean sighs, and pauses the movie. "C'mere."

Cas eyes him, but it comes off in this trusting, naïve way rather than suspicious, and isn't that a kick in the gut. He scoots closer, and Dean tugs at the edge of his shirt.

"C'mon, take this off."

Sam—the same Sam who was apparently paying more attention than the book in front of his face would've suggested—that Sam jumps up and disappears in the kitchen, without even asking if they want anything. Rude.

Dean suddenly realizes he's got a half-naked Cas on the couch beside him, facing him, and they're alone and holy shit that's a lot of skin, it's naked, naked skin and it's also Cas's skin, Cas's naked skin, and wow, is it red.

Oh.

Oh no. "Fuck, Cas, I didn't even think about you needing sunscreen."

Cas pokes at his skin, his fingers leaving white marks behind until they're re-absorbed by angry red. "I didn’t think I was supposed to be this color, but I thought it might've been the soap."

"The soap?"

"Some people put colored soaps in their hair to make themselves red."

"Hair dye, Cas. That's…never mind. You've got a sunburn."

"Is that…bad?"

Dean winces, and debates the merits of lying to him, but it's too late. Cas can see it on his face; he knows, because the former angel sighs.

"It'll be fine. It's gonna itch like a sonuvagun for a few days—" _probably more like a week_ "—then you'll lose some skin. But we'll run out and get you some lotion and you'll be fine."

Sam reappears at that moment and drops a bottle of cooking oil onto Dean over the back of the couch, then disappears down the hall with the announcement that he's ' _heading to bed_ ' and he'll ' _see them in the morning'_ and he ' _hopes you feel better, Cas_ ' like the fucking coward he is.

And now Dean's got a half-naked Cas on the couch beside him and they're alone, very alone, and holy shit that's a lot of skin and wow, is it red, it's so red and sensitive and tender and there is no way in hell he's gonna rub oil all over Cas.

He...he rubs oil all over Cas.

And Cas won't stop making these little whimpers, and shifting in his seat, and fuck Dean, but his legs are sunburned too, and how is this Dean's life now?

* * * * *


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I make no apologies for the erratic length of these chapters. It's all their fault, take it up with them._
> 
> Like wizards who arrive exactly when they mean to, these chapters are precisely as long as they want to be.

The next morning, Dean wanders into the kitchen, half asleep, the scent of coffee luring him forward. He almost bumps into Cas before Dean realizes he's standing in the doorway.

No. Not _standing_ in the doorway.

Dean blinks his eyes open a little wider and okay, that's kind of cute.

Cas is wearing the sweatshirt again, but he's leaning against the doorframe, rubbing back and forth, whimpering in pleasure as he scratches his back on the warped wood like a very disgruntled bear. The sea salt definitely did a number on his hair, and Dean wants to thank the shitty, inadequate shampoo that came with the bungalow for the riot on Cas's head.

He can't help the slow grin on his face, and Cas catches it out of the corner of his eye, earning Dean the I-will-smite-you glare that always makes him shiver for reasons he used to not know. 

"I don't understand, Dean. Why is it this…this…itchy?"

"It's just gotta heal, sunshine." Fuck, why did Dean just call him sunshine?

Cas softens a bit, then his face scrunches again in pain, and he's furiously rubbing again as if a spot just twinged.

"Hey, hey, stop that. You're gonna irritate it. C'mere. Let me see it."

He lifts up Cas's shirt again, and it's an even angrier red today. Sam happens to walk in at just that moment and almost walks right back out, but Dean snags his arm. "This is pretty bad. Do you think we should take Cas home?"

"Dean, I'm fine, you've been planning this for months and…and I'm fine."

"Dude, this isn't how I pictured our beach vacation going! What, are the two of us supposed to lounge around outside while you're stuck inside, miserable? How's that supposed to work?"

Sam backs him up, for once. "You're not fine, Cas, Dean's right. You go out in the sun like this and you could get some permanent damage."

Cas starts to protest, but Dean shushes him. "You're more important than beaches and babes, man. Let's get you home and healed up, there's plenty of summer left. We can come back."

Cas doesn't look happy, and of course Sam apparently decides Dean shouldn't be happy either. "I think this shirt is making things worse, Cas. You should probably just leave it off until you heal. How're your legs?"

Cas is stripping to his boxers—Dean's boxers, seriously, didn't they buy Cas clothes? He remembers buying Cas clothes—and Dean decides it's time to take a shower. Right now. Very cold.

Coffee's overrated.

* * * * *


	3. Chapter 3

It really only gets harder from there.

Cas is always wandering around in boxers now, muttering about how this is ' _worse than molting_ ' and ' _how do humans live like this'_ and ' _do I have to have skin I don't like it_ '.

Dean is 90% positive if he could handle looking directly at those boxers, he'd be confirming most of them were actually his.

Sam's still being helpful without actually being helpful, which means Cas keeps appearing at all hours of the day and night, asking Dean to rub lotion on all the places he can't reach. Dean's starting to get suspicious that Cas can reach more of his back and shoulders than he's letting on, and that Cas is just being lazy. He has no way of confirming this without being an asshole.

Also, he kind of likes rubbing lotion on Cas. Not that he'll ever admit that to anyone, ever.

Actually, now that he thinks of it, it's been a little while since Cas has asked him. At least an hour past when he usually would've been pestering Dean. Dean checks in his room, then in the war room, and the library. It's not until he's almost in the kitchen he hears those little hitching moans, those satisfied sighs that mean Cas is probably rubbing on another door frame, or a shelf support. 

Or...or not.

“Dude! Is that my best spatula?”

“The metal edges are very satisfying, Dean.”

“Oh, gross, are you…oh fuck, you’re shedding? You're shedding. On my spatula.”

“I have to reach it somehow! It itches!”

“Reach it with something else!” A long strip of skin peels down, hanging midway off Cas’s back, and normally Dean’s all about Cas being mostly naked and oiled up in front of him, but Dean Jr. has never been softer. “Fuck, I am never cooking with that spatula again.”

“I’ll buy you a new one.”

“With what money?”

Cas’s face crumples a little, and he lowers the spatula, and fuck, Dean _is_ an asshole. A goddamn fucking grade A asshole with the most capital of A's. “Hey, look. Let me help. It’ll go faster.”

Dean holds his hand out for the spatula— _gross gross gross_ —and sets it on the table, then guides Cas to straddle a chair backwards so he can get to the skin already in shreds on his back.

It's horrid at first, disgusting and weird and this was not how this week was supposed to go, it wasn't, but then...then it's kind of meditative, the way each piece comes free. The soft sighs and shifts of Cas, the squeaks of their chairs, the hum of the refrigerator in the otherwise quiet kitchen.

Dean likes this, likes taking care of Cas without the hungry edge beneath it.

He finishes peeling everything that will peel, then pulls out the lotion he'd been carrying on his original search for Cas, not quite ready to stop. Cas hisses at the cold, tensing then relaxing as Dean spreads it, cool beneath his fingers against the blistered skin.

"Is...is that _skin?_ " Sam sounds every bit as appalled over the small pile on the table as Dean should still be, his _too sharp too loud too everything_ words puncturing the quiet bubble that'd settled over them.

"Dean is helping me," Cas says calmly, and for some reason, Dean flushes.

"Helping you…" Sam turns around, holding his hand up. "You know what, never mind."

Dean starts to follow, but then Cas settles back into his chair, leaning his chest against the backrest, clearly expecting Dean to continue. And Dean, well.

He continues.

* * * * *


	4. Chapter 4

Once Cas is done peeling, new skin isn't far behind, and he doesn't need Dean anymore. And Dean, fucking weirdo that he is, Dean misses it. He misses being needed. 

He misses Cas wandering around in his boxers, even if he did leave oily patches on all of the chairs. 

He misses rubbing and rubbing and rubbing that pink skin, far more often than was probably necessary, but it's not like Cas knows any better. Granted, Sam was a bit surprised the second and third time Dean asked him to get another bottle of lotion from the store, but Sam wasn't going to say anything to Cas. Not after Dean threatened to use the skin-spatula to make his pancakes.

He just didn't want Cas to be miserable any longer than necessary. Or ruin any more of his fucking cooking utensils, for that matter.

Most of all, he just misses the long quiet minutes (hours) spent together while Cas shifted and sighed as if Dean's hands were magic.

"You alright there, Dean?"

Fuck, Sam joined him at the kitchen island at some point, and Dean has no idea how long he's been sitting here, staring off into space.

"Peachy."

"You look...pensive."

"Yeah, well, I miss my spatula."

Sam sighs. "It's not Cas's fault we had to come back early. It's been weeks, I thought you'd be over it by now."

What? Shit. "'course it's not his fault. Never said it was." If anything, it was Dean's fault for not offering to rub sunscreen on him, mostly because he didn't think Cas needed it. Mostly, but also a little bit because he didn't think he could handle the actual act of rubbing sunscreen on his best friend.

Is that irony?

That's probably irony. He should look it up and make sure.

Sam has that pinched look as if he's planning to say something Dean's not going to like, when Cas wanders in, (Dean's?) shirt in hand and a lost look on his face.

"Dean?"

"Mm?" Fuck, but he looks good, flushed warm and pink, hair a wet riot from what must've been a recent shower. Hip bones peeking up over what also might be Dean's sweatpants.

Again, Dean definitely could've sworn they'd bought Cas clothes. Several times now.

"I decided I should probably start exercising more regularly now...now that I'm…" His face pinches. "Anyway, I went running and it was hot and I didn't wear a shirt and I...I think I…" Cas sighs and gestures at his (bare! bare! bare bare bare!) chest. "It happened again."

_Oh._

Not flushed pink. He's burned himself again. Dean pops up eagerly, hand on Castiel's shoulder, guiding him to turn. "Here, let me see."

"I thought it was fine until I took a shower," Cas mutters, shifting from foot to foot, restless under Dean's inspection.

"Mm, yeah, that'll happen. This looks pretty bad—" It wasn't bad. It was barely pink, and Dean was a horrible, horrible person. "—but not as bad as before. Little lotion, you'll be fine."

Cas sighs, more dramatically than before. "I suppose I should avoid shirts again, also? Until it no longer itches?"

Dean coughs. "Um. Yeah, probably should. Wouldn't...um. Wouldn't want to...wouldn't want to irritate it."

"Would you rub lotion on it again? I can't reach past my shoulders."

"Sure...sure thing, Cas."

Dean ignores Sam as his brother pushes past, muttering nonsense on his way through the doorway behind them. Guiding Cas to a chair with Dean's hands lingering on his waist, getting to touch all that exposed skin again, it needs all of his focus. He'll figure out what's up with Sam later.

* * * * *


	5. Chapter 5

Cas burns three more times over the next month. Never as severely as the first time, but Dean's hands have never been so moisturized. They're positively soft.

Over the course of that same month, Sam buys three different brands of sunscreen, but none of them seem to be working with Cas's soft newly human (virginal) skin.

Dean should be upset, but Cas doesn't seem to be that bothered by needing Dean's help. The fucking skin-spatula disappears from the kitchen and reappears in Castiel's room, and novelty back scratchers keep showing up at their post box in town, but he hasn't peeled again, so. What's a little pink skin between friends?

* * *

Dean's in his room lining up his recently acquired collection of burn lotions and oils when Sam appears in his doorway.

"Dean."

Oh boy, that tone.

Dean's in too good of a mood to let that tone bother him, though. Cas has been able to wear a shirt pain-free for three days now, and that means it's just about time for Dean to be called back into duty.

Dude does love to run with his shirt off, and Dean is fucking grateful for that in so many ways he probably shouldn't be.

" _Dean._ "

Oh, right. He sets down the last bottle of lotion, then begins re-straightening the others, which may or may not already be in a perfectly neat row. "Sammy."

"Dean, shouldn't you be helping Cas learn how to put sunscreen on properly rather than...this?"

Dean's brain stalls faster than a record scratch. Shit. Shit shit _shit_ , he should've thought of that. One, it's kind of (really quite) awful of him to be waiting around for Cas to burn and be uncomfortable (and shirtless, so shirtless), but also...it's kind of awful to have to wait around for Cas to burn and need him.

Sunscreen, people need sunscreen all the time. All. The. Time.

Every day. _Before_ running. Maybe...maybe Dean could run _with him_. Then Dean...Dean will need sunscreen, too.

Fuck.

Those big hands that Dean absolutely never stared at while Cas was throwing vampires around and smiting demons. Those graceful hands that were equally at home flipping his angel blade as they are turning pages in a book. Those powerful hands that he'd used to shove Dean into a wall that one time.

Those big, graceful, powerful hands. If Cas ever goes to put sunscreen on _him_...shit. Maybe it's time to stop lying to himself.

Maybe, maybe it's time to—

Sam makes an irritated noise, yanking Dean back to the present, but before his brain can stumble back into a proper answer for his brother, Cas appears. Shirtless.

Shirtless, but lightly tanned, not pink.

"Hello, Dean." One bite of that deep gravel, and Dean is even more fucked. 

He can't help it, he glances at Castiel's hands. "Yeah, buddy?"

"I was wondering…" Cas shifts, his shoulders restless, making Dean think of a bird ruffling its feathers. "Would you...that is. I would appreciate some assistance, if you were so inclined."

Dean sets down the bottle of oil in his hand and turns fully to face Cas, the tiny glances he was sneaking sideways not enough to clue him into Cas's state of mind. "Whatever you need, pal."

"Well, I don't _need_ it per se…"

"Whatever you want, Cas. What is it?"

"A...I was wondering if you would rub oil on my back again."

"Oh, shit. Sorry. I didn't realize you'd burned—"

"I haven't."

"O...oh?"

"It...feels nice. When you rub oil on my back. I thought perhaps...but it isn't necessary...if you…"

"No, yeah, sure. Sure, yeah."

"My muscles are very tight, and it feels nice when you rub them."

"Yeah, I bet. Come over here and pick a bottle out and we'll fix you up. This one is new, you might like this one. It's coconut and...shea butter? With some sort of flower thing going on. Or, here, wait, you liked that one at the end before, didn't you? You want it again?" He holds up two containers, knocking a third over in his eagerness. 

Fucking smooth, that's what that was.

Sam makes a strange noise and throws his hands up before stalking out of the room. Dean's a shitty brother as well as a shitty friend, because in addition to not thinking of the sunscreen on his own, he doesn't bother to call after Sam.

He'll catch up to him eventually. He needs to move the sunscreen ( _all_ of the sunscreen) to his room for convenience, after all, and Sam has every single bottle of it (for now).

But that's for later. Right now, he has a back to rub.

* * * * *


End file.
